War for the Oaks (26 page)

"Impressive. Do you have the whole ceremony memorized?"

"No, my sweet. Just that crucial bit." He was biting back a grin.

"I bet you could tell me what it means, too."

"But it's much more fun to watch you do it."

"You jerk. Okay. Mortal flesh and doom are one—humans die, it's part of the business of being human. What was the next bit?"

" '. . . And mortal will may rule them.' "

"Hmm. Mind over muscle, sure—but is that saying we control our own deaths?"

"Have you never heard of those who seem to lose their will to live?"

Eddi considered this. "I suppose. Now, spirit resides—"

"Shall
reside."

"Picky, picky."

The phouka shook his head. "This, remember, was her warning to the assembled Court: Spirit
shall
reside in flesh, as a result of what we would do here."

Eddi could feel her scalp begin to tingle. "Repeat the whole last half, that begins with 'Spirit shall reside in flesh.' "

" 'Spirit shall reside in flesh, doom reside in spirit, and all shall bow before will.' " The phouka looked at her expectantly.

"My God," she whispered. "She wasn't lying—?"

"In the midst of a piece of ceremonial magic? No, my primrose. She was not lying."

Eddi raked her hair off her forehead. "Then . . . I've got the power of Faerie, Faerie's got my mortality, and if I want, I can control both of those?"

"Close," the phouka said. "Faerie still has its power, and you are still mortal. But you have become, conditionally, part of Faerie, as symbolized by your acceptance of food from the Lady's hand. Our power is thus yours by right, as it would not be had we taken you captive. You are not a captive—your answer to the Lady last night made that clear. Your answer also showed that you had not come as a willing sacrifice. You were there as an ally of Faerie, assuming the bonds as a formality."

"Wait, wait, wait—which answer was this?"

" 'If the obligations of friendship are constraints, then I'm constrained to be here.' "

Good God
—
he memorized that?
"But I didn't mean friendship with Faerie. I meant . . ."

He gave her that grin, and that wicked look through his eyelashes. "You're a poet, my sweet," he said. "Surely you know that sometimes your words have more meaning to others than they do to you. And as for your ability to control what goes on . . . well. You have exactly as much control over magic as you do over your body, or your fate."

"I haven't had much control of that lately."

"If you believe that, it's true, and you have no magic," the phouka said harshly. "And I have been as much a fool as Willy Silver claims I have."

"Is that my fault? What do you think I—"

His voice overpowered hers. "But I don't think you truly believe it. If you did, you would not have fought back when the redcaps threatened to overwhelm us. You would have curled up and let death ride over us all. I chose you in part because you were strong. I believed you would fight for your own life, if for nothing else. Now I believe you would fight for a great deal more."

"If you think that not dying is just a matter of not wanting to," Eddi sighed, "then boy, have you got a surprise coming."

He wouldn't smile. "Do you understand me, my heart? I offered you the key to magic, and you responded with denial, I cannot let that pass, even once. You must believe that what I have made possible
is
possible, or we have already failed."

Eddi paced the living room rug. That she was a part of Faerie now—it was surprisingly easy to buy. She remembered the searing feeling of the Seelie Court's power passing into her through every pore, and the scraps of knowledge that had come with it.

But the phouka was offering her magic, power of her own. Not possible, surely not. Yet why would he want her to believe in the impossible? Was this a trick? Would he make a fool of her? No. He was entirely capable of making a fool of her, but not like this.

"Why me?" she said softly. He looked startled. "You told me I'd get all my questions answered on May first. And that's always been Question Number One."

"You heard what I told Willy. . . ."

"About musicians and glamour? Do you want me to believe that in a town full of musicians, I'm the only one who meets the specs?"

He shook his head.

"Was I the first one you found?"

"No. Do you know how many brilliant musicians are stupid, or crude, or determinedly ignorant, or in some way wholly despicable?"

"Sometimes I feel as if I've met every one of them," Eddi replied. "But the Seelie Court doesn't need someone lovable for this job. They don't even really need an artistic type, do they?"

"No, though the chances are very good that we would have chosen one, simply because we like them. My primrose, before we go on, do you suppose I could at least have more coffee?" He held up his cup and looked pitiful.

"Pour me one, too." He disappeared into the kitchen. She called after him, "And cut a couple of pieces of bread, for godsake!"

Eddi plunked down on the couch and tucked her feet under her. So many things to deal with. Explain all this to Carla, figure out what to do about Dan (what the devil had moved Carla to tell him?). Then there was Willy, and . . . Hedge? That Hedge was another denizen of Faerie made a certain cockeyed sense. It explained his determined air of the outsider, and all that new equipment. What local music store
had found a little surprise in the cash register that time? Living with the hosts of Faerie, it appeared, was like running a home for incorrigible children.

The phouka balanced two cups of coffee and two pieces of bread and butter into the living room. He seated himself cross-legged on the floor, handed her her coffee, and looked expectantly up.

"Don't give me that cocker-spaniel routine," she scolded. "I want some answers, son."

"Oh, but you have to ask me the questions first, love. It's not in my nature to smooth the way for you."

"I have one pending."

"Bother. I was hoping you'd forgotten." He refolded his legs. "Why you. A short question with a long answer. You met, as I've said, the few requirements of the Court. The rest were mine."

"I kind of figured that out. You have an axe to grind in all this, don't you?"

"Yes." Then he closed his lips firmly and looked stubborn.

"Phouka." She leaned forward and pinned him with her eyes. "You've run a lot of risks, and gone to a lot of work, and all to turn me into a bullet for your gun. But I'm a bullet that thinks for itself, and I want to know what I'm being shot at." He winced. "Are you a traitor?" she asked gently.

"No! At least, I devoutly
hope
I'm not." He massaged the bridge of his nose. "Ah, Eddi, Eddi. If I fail, I will become a major figure in the history of the Seelie Court. Reviled for centuries, I imagine."

"And if you don't fail?"

"Well, that's the cream of the jest. If I succeed, I will be barely noticed."

"What is it you want to do?"

He rubbed his hands along his trousered thighs, as if his palms itched, or were damp. "You may have seen, my primrose, that the Fey Folk are the merest bit class-conscious. We would, by our nature, make very bad anarchists. We do make excellent monarchists, however, under ordinary circumstances." He cut the air with one hand in a frustrated gesture. "There are no mortal structures to which I can compare this. None have lasted so long. A very bad analogy—do you remember bad King John and the Magna Carta?"

"A little."

"John was not bad, precisely. But he'd a tendency to do as he
pleased without regard to the lesser lords whose men-at-arms kept him in power. The situation became untidy for a while, until those lesser lords forced John to be a little more thoughtful."

"And you want a Faerie Magna Carta?"

The phouka shook his head. "As I said, there is no proper human analog. The Sidhe have a habit of rule cultivated over more than two thousand years. What mortal government has lasted so long? And the rest of Faerie has a habit of obedience of corresponding length. Even the most solitary of the Folk will not run directly counter to the will of the Sidhe, though they may, when convenient, fail to hear the expression of that will."

"Like the brownies?"

"And the oakmen, and others. But none of the Seelie Court would rise up, as King John's lordings did, and bring the Sidhe to book."

"Do they need it?" Eddi asked, thinking of Willy, and not knowing what to think.

The phouka drew his knees up and rested his chin on them. "They have ruled for so long, my sweet. They are an unbroken dynasty, and while there have been faction fights and quarrels, there has never been a voice raised to say that perhaps the Sidhe have led us long enough. A thousand years and more of consent. After so long, who can blame them for forgetting the obligations of monarchy, and ruling only for themselves? Who can blame them for thinking that those who never speak are voiceless?"

"Have they . . . done something awful?"

"In time, I think they would. They have forgotten the Folk they govern, and how to feel for them. And so the Folk slip away from them, looking increasingly toward the only other part of Faerie with a tradition of rule." He let out a long breath. "There are high lords of the Unseelie Court as well, you see."

Eddi did see. "This really is a civil war, then."

The phouka looked away to a distant, invisible point. "When I explained why the Seelie Court
must
win—"

"I remember." Visions of bitter, frightened people in gray cities . . .

"But it cannot win if the Unseelie Court lures its warriors to the opposing side, and if the Sidhe help them on their way. The Lady and her kin will see it at last, but by that time the damage will be done, the Court splintered." He pressed a hand over his eyes.

"Where do I come in?" Eddi asked, after a respectful pause.

"We need a third element, a possible rallying point for both the Sidhe and the lesser ranks."

"If this were American politics, I'd tell you that splitting the vote is a lousy idea."

The phouka shrugged. "Perhaps it is. But what can I do? The Sidhe will not be led by one of their subjects. Nor will their subjects break tradition and lead themselves. But I thought . . . if I found a mortal, unhindered by ancient habits, bringing with him no ancient associations . . . And I needed someone who might command the respect and admiration of both the high and low ranks. When I found you, I knew you could do all that, if only I could arrange for you to have the chance. So I informed the Court that I had found their mortal."

"Dear me," Eddi murmured. "And Dad always said I'd never get anywhere playing rock 'n' roll."

He choked on his coffee. "Eddi McCandry, you are infinitely more than I deserve. Do you forgive me for not telling you all of this immediately?"

Eddi shrugged. "Much as I hate to give you the credit, I wouldn't have understood a third of that before last night. No, scratch that. I would have understood it all and
still
spit in your eye."

"But not anymore?" He cocked his head at her.

Eddi took a bite of bread while she thought about that. "I like these people," she said finally. "I like Hairy Meg. Even though I hate his guts, I like Willy. And I like you." The phouka looked at his feet. "I haven't seen any lovable qualities in the opposition yet." There was another reason, too, though she didn't quite understand it herself, not well enough to explain to someone else, anyway. But she'd been in danger and fought back, fought with the Seelie Court against their enemy. It was hard to be indifferent to them after that.

Then she remembered—"Omigod. And Hedge. Willy wasn't just saying that to drive me crazy, was he?"

The phouka looked shamefaced. "No, he wasn't. I am profoundly sorry, my primrose. I should have told you, I know. But so much was different then, and when it changed, it changed so quickly."

"Quit apologizing and tell me now. I suppose you thought you needed help keeping an eye on me?"

"Well . . ." The phouka looked at the ceiling. "Yes."

"So you brought a ringer into the auditions, knowing that he was too good a bass player for me to turn down. Did you know about Willy, too, before he showed up?"

The phouka's smile faded. "When he came in the door that evening—I didn't know what to do. I knew who he was, of course. But what he intended . . . No, I didn't know." He looked away, and hugged his knees as if to keep from doing something else. "And when I did know, I wanted to tell you, and I couldn't. There are habits of obedience in me as well, it seems. He is my liege lord, Eddi, and I
couldn't
, though I knew you would hate the deception and perhaps the deceiver as well."

Eddi sat with her chin in her hand, watching him. "I don't blame you," she said. "I don't blame anybody. I'd blame Willy, but . . ." She shrugged.

"But he still doesn't know what he did wrong?"

"Exactly."

"We are an inconstant lot, my sweet," the phouka said. He spoke as if amused, but his face was harsh. "We take love lightly, and we're hard on those who love us. Willy has no model for his behavior but that of Faerie. By that model, he has done nothing amiss."

"You sound proud of it."

"Well, I'm not," he snapped, "and you know it perfectly well." He stood up abruptly and took his coffee cup to the kitchen.

"Do I?" Eddi murmured to the air. Twisty, untrustworthy, mercurial phouka. Oh, but surely some of these emotional U-turns must be genuine, if only in part? If he wanted privacy, she ought to stay out of the kitchen. But he might want her to come jolly him out of the sulks. . . .

She dialed Carla's number and got her answering machine.
Silly broad. I told her I'd call and explain today. Where would she be?
A possibility occurred to her; but she decided against calling Dan's.

"Hi, party girl," she told the recording, "practice and fairy tales at four-thirty today, the old same place." She itched to add, "Did you have fun?" but resisted. "Good luck," also came to mind, but she didn't say that, either. The end-of-message beep sounded, and she shrugged and hung up.